


Yotan

by scribblemoose



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-20
Updated: 2004-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose





	Yotan

They all say I'm a playboy.

Well, I certainly like to play.

But not with girls. Not any more. Not since...

Maybe I ought to start at the beginning.

* * * * * * *

I don't think I would ever have called myself straight, exactly.

I've always loved women. When I was a kid, I adored my mother, and her friends. All my best friends were girls, as I grew up.

But you don't always want to fuck your best friend, if you know what I mean.

I've always liked fucking men.

I love women. I fuck men.

After Asuka, the loving hurt too much. No girl could match her. I exercise the Kudoh charm on Manx and the girls in the shop, but I don't want them, not really. I can't afford to get involved anymore. Too dangerous. I don't want another Asuka on my hands. Two were enough, believe me.

It should have been simple. It was simple, for a long time. The great thing about the gay scene is that a good looking guy can pick up just about any time he wants; a quick blow or a handjob or some bishonen to fuck, no strings, no questions asked. I flirted away the days in the flowershop, went out and got what I needed at night. It worked just fine, until Aya came along.

Of course I always fancied him. Who wouldn't? But he pissed me off at first, with his Glare of Doom expression and the way he treated Ken and the chibi. Besides, it didn't seem the best idea in the world, to start screwing around within the team. I may not be the brightest button in the box sometimes, but I'm not that stupid.

Or maybe I am.

He'd been in the team for while before he told us he was gay. It wasn't a great dramatic coming out or anything. Aya-chan was in the hospital, and Omi asked how she was. He made a point of it, asking after her, once we knew. Aya didn't say much, usually, but it turned out that this particular day was her birthday, and that seemed to loosen Aya's tongue. He and Omi got talking about her, about how close they'd been. And Aya slips into the conversation, casual as anything, that he'd slept with his sister's best friend's brother.

Well, he didn't say it like that, exactly. Said something about sleeping over on study nights. But I could tell that's what he meant. I caught his eye, and I knew, and he knew that I knew. For all I know he might have wanted me to know all along. I've never asked him.

We got a lot closer, after that. Stayed up a few nights talking about books and music. Nothing out of the ordinary, not once. We went to Hell and back together, over and over, dancing the gruesome little dance that was Weiss. A few times I thought maybe something more would happen: when things were really bad, after Neu, or in the odd moments when he'd look at me and I just about lost control... but it didn't happen. Until we were on tour, cramped together in that stupid mobile flower shop. I don't know why it happened then. There was no great crisis, nothing to make us forget ourselves and act stupid.

I was on my way out for cigarettes, and caught sight of him misting some of the plants. He has this way of stroking the leaves and hissing the spray on them, like it's a sign of affection. He talks to them, too, but if he ever asks, I didn't tell you that, right?

"Yotan?" he said. Probably about to ask me to fetch him something from the store. But the way he spoke my name, my pet name, in that deep, rumbly voice, just flipped a switch inside of me. My heart was pounding, blood rushing to my dick, a deep ache of want growing in my belly. But it wasn't those feelings that made me do anything; fuck, all it took was being in the same room as Aya to get that kind of response. This was different. I didn't just want him. It was something else.

Whatever the reason, I lost control. I crossed the room in two strides, gripped his shoulders to turn him around, and kissed him.

He pushed me clear of his body and socked me one to the jaw that made me stumble back against the couch, a mess of sprawling indignity spread out for him to laugh at.

Only, he didn't laugh. He took his sweater off.

While I was still blinking at him in confused disbelief, clutching my jaw, he started to stalk towards me, leaned over, and kissed me right back.

I slid my tongue in his mouth and slipped my fingers into that gorgeous, silky hair. I might have guessed that Aya would end up being in charge. He pushed my coat off my shoulders, shoved my shirt up so he could lick and suck at my nipples. If I'd had any illusions of Aya as virginal, I think they would have been shattered round about then; his tongue was stiff and wet and knew exactly what I wanted. I let him have his way with me, savouring every moment, storing up the memory in case it never happened again. Even though I think we both knew it would.

We didn't hang around, that first time. He had my dick out of my pants and nestling in his palm in moments, ducked down and took it in his mouth -- my dick in Aya's mouth, for fuck's sake, it's a wonder I didn't make a fool of myself there and then -- licking it like an overeager puppy, sucking it right down his throat. Then just when I was nearly there, he pulled off, looked up at me with this wicked smile, and next I knew he'd flipped me over, pulled down my pants and was slicking my ass with this handcream that Omi always leaves around. The unperfumed sort, thank God.

I knew it would hurt, didn't care. I really didn't care. I think Aya did; he said sorry when I flinched, but he didn't stop. I wouldn't have let him, anyway. I've never wanted anything so much in my life as I wanted him inside me at that moment.

The pain faded quickly; Aya has this real soothing rhythm when he fucks. It's the same rhythm he uses for katas; smooth and precise, perfect strokes, perfect timing, elegant and forceful. I was chewing the back of my hand, trying not to come too soon, but there wasn't much hope. Not with him stroking me inside and out, licking the back of my neck and making these little noises, oh, fuck, the noises he makes... soft little murmuring noises, nothing like you'd expect.

Then my dick was tingling at the end in that way that only means one thing, and sure enough I'm spurting over his fingers, and watching it drip down onto the couch, pints and pints of the stuff, or so it seemed, and he's yelling out, loud, louder than me, I think, and I feel him slamming into me, burying himself deep before he lets go.

It was awkward, afterwards. We made ourselves decent; I got a couple of beers out of the fridge, lit a cig. It makes my skin crawl to think of it now, but I think we were an inch away from going our seperate ways, pretending it had never happened. Writing it off as a moment of weakness.

And then he looked at me.

Nobody ever looked at me that way before. Like he owned me.

No-one.

Thing was, he did.

* * * * * * *

They'll notice, eventually, that I don't go out much anymore, and when I do Aya's always with me.

We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I loved women. I fucked men.

I live for Aya.


End file.
